


Take A Seat, Mr. Caffrey

by elrhiarhodan



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-25
Updated: 2011-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times that Neal had sex when handcuffed to a chair, and one time when he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take A Seat, Mr. Caffrey

I. **INTERROGATION**

Peter considers the situation. It’s gone from bad to worse. Or good to better, depending on your point of view.

Neal is handcuffed to a hard metal chair, a set of restraints on each hand binding him to one of the steels bars that formed the back of the seat. Peter knows his boy, and he knows that if he cuffs Neal’s hands together, he’ll be out of the restraints in a matter of seconds. Neal is also blindfolded with Peter’s tie, and Peter has to admit that the tie _is_ ugly, especially when it’s wrapped around something as beautiful as Neal’s face.

This is supposed to be an exercise in interrogation techniques, but somehow it ends up with Neal bound to a chair and Jones giving him a blow job. It is a filthy, pornographic vision as Peter ever imagined. Neal is still fully clothed, but his painfully erect penis and balls are erupting out of his pants.

“Yessss” Neal moans as Jones runs the point of his tongue up the big vein on the underside of his dick before capturing the sensitive head between his lips, and then Jones lets it pop out of his mouth like a kid with an all-day sucker. Neal squirms in the chair and bites his lips, while Jones, intent on driving his friend a little crazy, blows a warm stream of air across Neal’s cock, once, twice and on a third time, is rewarded with a small spurt of pre-cum.

Neal pulls hard against the restraints, clearly wanting to grab Jones, to force his mouth down on his cock, to give him satisfaction. Peter walks around to the back of the chair and clamps his hands down on Neal’s shoulders. He growls at Neal. “Keep still, you’ll hurt yourself...and that’s my privilege.”

Peter’s lips and teeth and tongue play with the sensitive, nerve rich lobe of Neal’s ear, sending shudders down his body. Jones feels those tremors and yanks Neal’s hips a little closer to the edge of the chair, forces his thighs ever further apart and begins to deep-throat him. Peter stops toying with Neal’s ear to admire Jones’ technique. Neal’s cock is, to put it mildly, _substantial_ , and he is impressed that Jones is able to swallow Neal right up to his balls.

Neal twists his hips, trying to force his cock deeper into Jones’ mouth, but Jones keeps Neal under control, his hands gripping Neal’s hips, pressing him into the hard metal chair seat. Peter reaches around and unbuttons Neal’s vest and shirt, sliding his hand inside and begins to torment Neal’s nipple through the thin cotton undershirt, scraping and pinching. Neal makes sounds that Peter had never heard from him - more than desperate, more than hungry for completion. Peter smiles and pinches hard.

Neal comes, exploding down Jones’ throat and then all over the man’s face. Peter lets go of Neal’s nipple and pulls off the blindfold. Neal opens his eyes and blinks. As they adjusted to the light, he is greeted with the sight of Peter licking his cum off of Jones’ face.

_________________________

  
II. **SEDUCTION**

“Elizabeth, I don’t think this is such a good idea.” Neal looks at his best friend’s wife, his partner’s wife, the gorgeous woman he regularly fucks into oblivion - but only with his best friend, his partner in the same room. Elizabeth is wearing nothing more than a cherry-red merry widow, black stockings, a pair of strappy black Christian Louboutin sandals, and his hat - a black trilby with a red silk band. Neal suspects that Elizabeth had picked out her lingerie and footwear to match his hat.

Unfortunately, Neal is in no position to do anything about it. He is cuffed to one the Burke’s Danish Modern dining chairs. Neal realizes that he has been set up. Elizabeth has used two pair of cuffs - one for each hand, a trick she could have only learned from Peter. A few weeks ago, Peter had asked for a demonstration on how to escape from a proper set of handcuffs. Neal, perhaps too eager to show off his skills, showed Peter how easy it was for him to get out of a set of restraints when his hands were cuffed together. It is a matter of keeping a key in his shirt cuff at all times, and when his hands are cuffed, whether in front or around his back, the right hand can always get to the left shirt cuff and reach the small universal key secreted in there. A few days later, Peter used some novel interrogation techniques (a hand job while wearing those fucking bifocals) to get Neal to tell him that it was impossible to get out of the restraints when his hands were cuffed separately and behind him. Bifocals and exquisitely slow hand jobs aside, Neal still had enough sense of self-preservation to lie. It wasn't impossible, just damn difficult.

Of course, Neal can tip the chair over and extract himself quite easily, but he is completely distracted by the vision of Elizabeth walking around him in sexy lingerie and his hat. The nearly five-inch high sandals do something to her walk, turning it into something beyond sexy, something so filthy and arousing that Neal feels himself getting lightheaded.

“Oh, honey - I think this a perfect idea. Peter’s in Boston until Friday and I’m just so lonely ... I need it so badly.”

Neal swallows, hard - Elizabeth is playing games. Peter is not in Boston. He is out running errands - the grocery store, the liquor store, picking up videos. He could come back in at any time. Neal squirms a bit against the molded wooden seat - his massive erection uncomfortably bound by his tight-fitting pants.

Elizabeth kicks his legs apart and plants one foot on the chair, between his legs. Neal shudders as the tip, just the tip of her shoe presses against his prick. She wiggles it back and forth - once, twice, a third time. As pre-cum starts leaking out of him, Neal wonders when he developed a foot fetish. Elizabeth presses down hard and Neal bites his lip, hard, to keep control

As Neal pulls a bit on the cuffs, Elizabeth replaces her foot with her knee and leans over him. “Don’t struggle honey - you’ll hurt yourself. Peter will be very angry if you do...that’s his privilege.”

“Then please, Elizabeth - please fuck me.” Neal whines into her breasts.

“No, Neal. I think you need to learn some self control.” Elizabeth steps back and grabs another chair. She places it opposite him and sits down, her legs spread open vulgarly. She slides around a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position, and then lifts a leg and hooks her heel on the edge of Neal’s seat. This time, the side of her foot knocks against his still-clothed cock, tapping against it in an uneven rhythm.

Neal barely notices, he is completely engaged by what Elizabeth is doing to herself with her fingers. Her clever, long fingers. They pet and stroke, parting her smoothly waxed labia, dipping inside to collect moisture, then slicking it around and around in ever smaller concentric circles, until she centers on her clitoris. Her fingers dance over the tight, hard bundle of nerves, tapping, then pinching, rubbing and stroking, then plunging back down into her vagina. She teases and torments herself, and by extension Neal, who is now in agony as the side of her shoe grinds into his cock.

Both of them are breathing so hard and so intent on Elizabeth’s self-pleasuring that they don’t hear the door open and Peter walk in. In fact, it isn’t until Neal felt Peter’s hands at his belt and fly does he realize that Elizabeth’s husband, his partner, has come home.

“Isn’t her pussy pretty?” Peter whispers in his ear and Neal groans in an agony of desire as Peter’s hand pulls his unbearably aroused cock out of his fly. His hard right hand, with that callous on his middle finger, drags up and down his dripping prick, in syncopation with Elizabeth’s stroking. Elizabeth shoves three fingers of her right hand deep inside herself and with her left, pinches her clit hard. At the same time, Peter jams his thumb against Neal’s slit and bites down hard on Neal’s neck, the spot he discovered the very first time they came together. Neal explodes into Peter’s fist and all over his shirt and pants, while Elizabeth comes in a series of shuddering moans.

Peter walks over to his wife, with a handful of Neal’s cum. Elizabeth takes that hand and licks it, while Peter sucks the pleasure off her own fingers.

_________________________

  
III. **PREPARATION**

“There, all done.” Moz snipped off a thread. “For a man with almost no income, you certainly have acquired quite a wardrobe.”

Neal grinned. “June’s husband was a very well-dressed man.”

Moz looked at Neal, “Yeah, just keep telling that to your pet FBI agent when he starts to wonder why you’re wearing the same shirt and suit that’s featured on the cover of GQ.”

Neal’s eyebrows rose in an expression of mock wonder. “Since when did you start following men’s fashion?”

“Since you started dressing like a cross between Frank Sinatra and Daniel Craig.”

“Don’t worry about it. I doubt Peter even knows what GQ stands for.”

Moz just snorted.

Neal stood over his friend and examined his work. Moz had sewn small pockets into both cuffs of every one of his dress shirts and all his sweaters, so he could hide two handcuff keys (Neal used to rely on a key in just the left cuff, but recent events proved that he needed better preparation).

“Have you figured out how to get out of the cuffs when your hands are separated?” Moz, being Moz, knew most of his weak points.

“No - I’ve been trying to work that one out. It would help if I had two pair of cuffs to practice with.” Neal looked expectantly at Moz.

“What...you think I carry around pairs of standard issue handcuffs?”

Neal cocked his head at his friend’s sewing box.

Moz sighed. “You know me way too well. I’m just a regular boy scout...always prepared.” He lifted out the top tray, dug around underneath the tailoring paraphernalia and pulled out two sets of restraints and handed them to Neal.

“These look strangely well used, Mozzie.” Neal watched a flush climb up his friend’s neck.

He may have muttered something that sounded like “they’ve been, well, used strangely” but Neal wasn’t sure. Moz pulled out one of the chairs from the dining table and patted the back. “There’s no time like the present to get in some practice.”

Neal put on one of the altered shirts and pretended not to notice how intently Moz stared at him when he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and tucked the shirt in. When he started to button the cuffs, he realized that one very important element was missing - the keys themselves. “Mozzie?” Neal held up his hands and shook the cuffs.

“Oh, yeah...forgot.” Moz dug back into the sewing box and retrieved a small pouch. He tossed it to Neal. “I tested each of these - they all work. I think you’ll appreciate my ingenuity.”

Neal examined the contents of the pouch, and he was very impressed. Instead of a pile of nickel-plated brass keys, there were two dozen aerospace-grade ceramic keys. He raised an eyebrow at Moz.

“These won’t set off any metal detectors. And don’t ask me where I got them. I’m still entitled to some trade secrets.”

Neal said nothing else as he slipped the keys into the slots Moz had sewn. He buttoned the shirt cuffs and tested the fit. “Okay - let’s try this out.”

Neal sat down and let Moz put the restraints on. He settled in and tried to find the necessary headspace, but a problem arose. Literally.

As he squirmed around, trying to hide the evidence, Moz stared at him.

“Wait a second - you get excited by the cuffs? When did this start?”

Neal swallowed, not wanting to answer.

“The Suit - right?”

Neal nodded.

“Your arrest?”

Neal nodded again.

“You’re a freak - you know that. And you have the nerve to comment about the state of MY handcuffs.”

“Hey...at least I don’t…”

Moz clapped a hand over Neal’s crotch and squeezed hard. “Don’t say it...just don’t.”

Neal took a deep breath, exhaled, and tried to will his erection away. He failed, and instead bucked his hips into that palm.

“Moz? Umm…”

“Yeah, Neal?” Moz had that smug grin on his face, the one he got when his schemes all start to fall together.

“Please. Remove. Your. Hand.” Neal started to breathe deeply through his nose, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“No.”

Neal stared at his friend - he couldn’t believe that Moz would take such advantage of him, and unless he got out of the cuffs, there was nothing that he could do to stop him. Neal’s cock jerked hard at the thought.

Moz squeezed his dick again, gently this time. “I think you have a problem here, my friend. Your cock’s getting in the way of your Houdini-like talents. I think you need to practice your concentration under more extreme circumstances.”

Neal licked his lips, accepting the challenge. “Okay - I’m up for that.”

“Oh, man...you certainly are.” Moz chuckled at his Neal’s double-entendre and continued to take advantage of his friend’s state. He stroked his palm up and down Neal’s tumescent cock. “Aren’t you even going to try, or are you just looking for a hand job?”

Neal closed his eyes and desperately tried to distract himself from the feel of the cuffs and Moz’s hand, but nothing could overcome his excitement.

“Neal, concentrate. Think of what will happen if you can’t get out of those cuffs.” Moz, ever the friend, tried to give him some incentive. “These lovely pants, silk and wool - semen stains are so hard to get out.”

“You’re a real bastard, Moz.”

“I’m only trying to help you. Now focus on getting out of those cuffs.” At that, Moz undid Neal’s pants and ruthlessly pulled out his cock. Neal hissed as the cool air in the apartment hit his hot, aroused flesh.

“This is SO unfair.”

“No, it’s not. Now get yourself out of those cuffs. Show me the superhuman Neal Caffrey.” Moz dragged his soft, dry hand slowly up and down Neal’s dick.

Moz’s touch wasn’t quite as intimate as it should have been and Neal looked down. His friend had donned a latex glove. Neal laughed - typical Moz. He tried to hard to be a bad-ass, but he couldn’t escape his own phobias. “I think you may need some help with that. I don’t want any chafing at the end of this exercise. Just don’t get anything on the pants.”

Moz flushed, realizing that he just lost the advantage. “Got anything?”

“You think I’m going to help you jerk me off against my will?”

“Oh, grow up Neal - against your will - since when has that mattered between friends?”

“Moz - your logic escapes me. But if you want to be a friend - there’s some lube in the nightstand.”

“Do I want to know why you now have lube in the apartment?”

“Are you such a delicate flower, that I have to explain the facts of life to you? Peter’s big, I’m tight and Elizabeth’s favorite strap-on doesn’t fit into either of us without some chemical assistance.”

Moz turn beet red, but that didn’t stop him from retrieving the lube and carefully applying it to Neal’s cock.

“Ahh - that’s better.” Neal gritted his teeth against the pleasure of the steady rhythm from Moz’s fist.

It was a close call; Neal got the right cuff unlocked as Moz added a devastating twist to his wrist, making Neal’s balls draw up tight. He got the left cuff undone and jumped out of the chair just before Moz was able to finish him off.

Standing in the middle of the apartment, arms extended, bracelets dangling from both wrists and his penis bobbing in the open air, Neal was triumphant.

“You look ridiculous.”

“You’re just disappointed.” Neal took pity on Moz. “Want to finish me off?”

“Nah...Too messy.” Moz stripped the glove off, making sure that the palm and fingers, slick with lube and Neal’s secretions, were turned inside out so he wouldn’t have to touch it.

Neal undid the handcuffs from his wrists and offered the restrains back to Moz.

Moz held out his hand, not wanting to touch the cuffs. “No, man, you keep them. Practice - you know practice makes perfect.”

“I’ll completely disinfect them when I’m done. Okay?”

“Yeah – okay. That’ll work. And Neal – you might want to put that away.” Moz make a waving gesture towards Neal’s still exposed cock.

Neal wagged himself at Moz. “Last chance…”

“Nah, I’m good.”

_________________________

  
IV. **DEMONSTRATION**

Peter’s wearing the bifocals again, and Neal’s slowly going out of his mind with desire. By now, Neal figures that Peter knows what it does to him, and wears them deliberately. Unfortunately, Neal hasn’t figured out how to turn the tables on Peter when they’re in the office. Oh, he could wear a cock ring or a butt plug – toys that can transform Peter into an uncontrollable beast, but that’s taking play to a different level. This is about subtlety and one-upmanship.

Neal inadvertently discovers the solution to his dilemma when he is sitting in Peter’s office, after hours on a Friday. Earlier that day, Peter had dropped a pair of handcuffs on his desk, or rather the handcuffs in the leather case he wears. He’d been carrying the same case for so long that the leather belt loop had worn simply wore away.

Neal, being Neal and attracted to all things shiny, as well as anything that has been so intimately associated with Peter, starts to play with the case, and then with the cuffs. After a few minutes, he realizes that Peter has stopped talking and is staring intently at Neal’s hands as they twirl the bracelets around and around. When Peter gets up, shuts and locks his office door, Neal knows his got his counter-play.

Peter sits back down at this desk and fiddles with the ear piece on the right side of his glasses. Neal opens one of the cuffs and clacks it shut. Peter drops the glasses to the tip of his nose and stares into Neal’s eyes. Neal squirms against his growing erection. Neal locks a cuff around his left wrist, letting the bracelet ratchet down one click at a time. Peter shifts in his chair, as if in sudden discomfort. Neal smiles.

“Show me.”

Neal looks around – even with the door locked and it’s late on a Friday and the office is empty – he’s still surprised that Peter wants him to …

“Put the other bracelet on and show me how you get out of them.”

Neal’s simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

Peter gets up and sits on the edge of his desk. “Okay, Houdini – show me how you get out of the cuffs.”

Neal knows he’s serious – he’s taken off the bifocals. So he puts on the other bracelet, shakes out his wrists a bit, turns them so that the fingers on his right hand can just reach inside his left cuff, and retrieves the small metal key hidden inside. It takes about two seconds, and Neal’s unlocked both sides of the cuffs, which fall into his lap. Neal discretely returns the key back to its secret pocket in his shirt cuff.

Peter blinks. “Show me again.”

This time, Peter puts the restraints on him and Neal can feel the other man’s hands shake a bit. They’re slightly sweaty, too. Neal’s pleased.

Neal repeats the trick once more. Then again. And for a third time. He glances down at Peter and the bulge in the man’s pants is growing.

Neal says nothing.

“What if I lock your hands behind your back?” Peter is taking deep breaths and sweat’s dotting his forehead.

Neal revels in the sense of control. He may be getting locked up, but it’s Peter that’s being held hostage. It takes a few seconds longer to get out of the single pair of cuffs when his hands are behind his back. He repeats the trick a few times, and gets faster with each escape.

Peter surprises him with a question. “Can you get out with out the key?”

Neal hands him the key with a quick comeback. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

This time, when Peter puts the cuffs on Neal, he presses his erection against Neal’s ass, just for a quick moment. Neal gave Peter a tiny, answering shimmy.

Neal turns around; fiddles with something and in about one minute, the cuffs are off.

This goes on and on, Peter getting more and more aroused, to the point that he’s rubbing himself and Neal can see the pre-cum staining his fly.

Then he shocks Neal. “I want to lock you into the chair.”

Neal freezes and Peter immediately notices. Something shifts behind his eyes. The dynamic in the room has instantly changed. It doesn’t help Neal, of course that Peter picks up his bifocals and puts them on.

“Which chair?” Neal watches as Peter processes the question. The guest chairs don’t have arms, and there’s nothing along the back to latch onto. But the desk chair would be perfect. Neal becomes almost unbearably excited - he knows that this is going to end with his naked ass on that leather chair, _finally_.

Peter seems to read his mind. “Get your ass in my chair.”

Neal starts to take off his pants.

“What are you doing?” Peter has a horrified expression on his face.

“Ummm...you were getting all ... I just thought...”

“Well, don’t think. Not here.” Peter’s tone softens. “Get in the chair...I want to see you get out of the cuffs with your hands separated.”

Neal licks his lips. This is a trick he’s had a hard time mastering. Other types of restraints aren’t a problem, but handcuffs were, for various reasons. Neal sits down. Just as Peter locks the bracelets around Neal’s left wrist, the dim lighting in the outer office gets just a bit dimmer. Someone’s just turned out another light.

“Shit - it’s Hughes. I thought he left hours ago. Get under the desk.”

Neal slides off the seat and folds himself into the cramped space. Since Peter still has his key, and he can’t reach behind his back to get to the pick hidden in his belt, his hand remains secured to the chair arm. Peter rushes to unlock the door and sits down just as Hughes knocks and opens Peter’s door.

 _“You’re here late. I didn’t think there was anything on your plate to keep you here on a Friday.”_ Neal can hear the affection the old man has for Peter.

 _“Oh, El has a thing tonight. Thought I’d just finish some paperwork - clear the decks for Monday.”_ Peter’s voice is perfectly normal, even a little goofy-happy sounding. Neal runs his free right hand along the inside of Peter’s thigh. He’s rewarded with a clenching of muscle and a pulse of pre-cum.

 _“Where’s Caffrey? You know you can have him do the tedious stuff.”_ Neal digs his fingers in, applying pressure to the hard bulge of his dick. He shouldn’t get any ideas about fobbing off any more paperwork onto him. Peter tries to kick him, but the space is so small that Peter can’t get any leverage.

 _“Neal’s in the mens room. I like to keep him around after hours, doing mostly nothing...especially when I know he’s got plans for the evening.”_ In retaliation, Neal starts massaging Peter’s whole cock, rubbing his thumb against the flare of the very prominent head, fingers working against the placket to reach his balls.

 _“That’s a bit mean, Peter. But good thinking. I worry sometimes that you let Caffrey take advantage of your good nature.”_ Neal’s handwork gets more creative, and the muscles in Peter’s legs get tighter. Caught in the small, hot space, Neal can smell the lust rolling off Peter.

Hughes finally bids Peter a good night and Neal hears the footsteps receding downstairs and into the empty office. Peter waits a few moments longer, perhaps to see Hughes walk out the door and get onto the elevator. Then he pushes back his chair and yanks Neal out from under the desk. Unfortunately, he forgets that Neal’s left hand was still manacled to the arm of the chair.

“Ouch - watch what you’re doing.” Peter pushes Neal back down on his knees.

“You little shit - you just _love_ to push the envelope, don’t you. Neal swallows hard against his own excitement, to keep from moaning. Peter’s standing over him, hands on his hips, the front of his pants obscenely bulging and wet, and he’s wearing the glasses - those _fucking glasses_. This is better than his best wet dreams.

Neal’s voice is the barest whisper. “Do you still want me to show you how I get out of the cuffs?”

Peter’s eyes are glowing with excitement. “No, we’ll save that demonstration for another time.” He walks around the desk and turns off the overhead light. The only illumination in the room is the computer screen and the desk lamp. “Get back under the desk.”

Neal obeys – how could he not?

Before Peter sits down, he takes a second set of cuffs from the credenza. He sits down and shackles Neal’s right hand to the chair. Peter cups the back of Neal’s head, pressing his face down against his crotch. Neal nuzzles and licks and finally bites at the hard flesh, the soaked fabric an unpleasant texture in his mouth.

“Use your teeth. Open my pants.” Peter’s voice was harsh, demanding.

Neal struggles with the belt buckle; his chin keeps brushing against the protrusion of Peter’s erection. Neal tries to use the chair arms as leverage, but Peter’s clamps his hands over Neal’s wrists. After a few minutes of fruitless effort, Peter relents and opens his own pants. He takes his cock out, and in revenge for Neal’s earlier stunt, he smacks him on the face with it, rubbing the dripping head across Neal’s brow, his eyelids, his cheek. It leaves trails of silver across Neal’s face.

Peter shifts his ass, and although the quarters are tight, with Neal’s arms spread and locked, he’s able to slide forward enough to give Neal the best angle for deep-throating him.

Neal likes to compare his blow-jobs to brain surgery, in that they are a set of precise, carefully orchestrated, and finely tuned actions intended to render the recipient temporarily insensate. However, in his bound state, with limited space to maneuver and Peter clearly in charge, his mouth is nothing more than a receptacle for Peter’s huge, hungry cock.

Neal loves it. Peter is the most courteous of gentlemen, opening doors, helping him out of the car, a hand at the small of his back, except when it comes to sex. Peter runs Neal ragged, his imagination and inventiveness know no boundaries. And when it comes to angry sex, Peter’s a beast.

Peter holds Neal’s head, controlling in his movements – all the while jerking his hips and thrusting his dick into Neal’s mouth. Peter hisses as Neal’s teeth scrape and his tongue tries to work around the mass of flesh that’s being shoved in and out of his mouth.

He finally pulls out of Neal’s mouth and works his cock in his fist. One, two, three pulls and Peter comes all over his face.

Neal looks up at Peter, cum dripping off his face. They stay in that position for a few moments while they catch their breath.

“Don’t move.” Peter reaches into his pocket for his key ring and unlocks Neal’s hands. He drags Neal onto his lap and washes his face with his tongue.

Neal grinds himself against Peter, frotting his crotch on the other man’s thigh. He’s moments from climax when Peter pushes him back.

Neal leans on the edge of Peter’s desk, watching him put his cock back into his pants. Peter gets up, and turns to grab his briefcase, not noticing that Neal’s retrieved his key and unlocked both pairs of cuffs from the chair arms.

Something to play with later.

  


_________________________

V. **CONFRONTATION**

Peter wasn’t quite sure how it happened. One moment he was sitting at the dining table, going over case files and El's leaning over him, planting kisses along the nape of his neck and behind his ear. The next thing he knew, his hands were cuffed to the back of the chair. Both hands, in two sets of handcuffs.

El pushed the table back and sat on the edge, ignoring the piles of paperwork. Peter wasn’t sure he was comfortable being cuffed – this was not the way he played the game. But from the way El was looking at him, a little cat smile on her lips, Peter knew that whatever she was going to do, he was going to enjoy it. That didn’t preclude him offering some hints and instructions – handcuffs were a specialty of his – but not on his own wrists.

“El, you might want to take down my pants.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Staring into Peter’s eyes, she put her bare feet on his thighs and pressed them opened. Her grin at his burgeoning erection was salacious. Her own spread thighs made it clear she wasn’t wearing panties. She ran her a foot up and down Peter’s crotch, and used the toes of the other one to dig in at his balls through his jeans. El bit her lip as she pressed down hard, never breaking eye contact.

“How do you like that, honey?”

Peter hissed in pleasure. “I think you can tell how much I’m enjoying it. But you might enjoy yourself more if you uncuffed one of my hands.”

“Now Peter, you have to learn, there are sometimes when you need to give up control and learn to take direction.” El continued to stroke Peter’s cock with her feet, smiling and saying nothing more. It seemed to Peter that she was waiting for something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what.

Then he heard someone work the locks on the front door, and Satchmo padded over to greet the newcomer. It was someone he knew. It was Neal.

“Hi guys.” Neal dropped a bag next to the table and gave El a kiss. As many times as he’s seen the two of them together, it still gave him a special thrill. Two pair of bright blue eyes looked at him.

El chuckled, “We’re hitting that kink pretty hard aren’t we, Peter.”

Peter didn’t answer, but he blushed.

Neal asked, “Which one is that?” Peter blushed deeper when he realized that she was going to tell him about his dirty, dirty little fantasy. And his cock got harder at the thought.

“Peter thinks we look like brother and sister.”

Neal seemed a bit taken aback, but then pulled El close. Peter groaned as they stood there, cheek to cheek. El’s eyes were a shade darker than Neal’s, and his face was a bit longer and more angular, but their wicked smiles were nearly identical. “I think you’re right, Elizabeth – he’s definitely seeing something he likes.”

Peter struggled against the cuffs. After Neal had shown him how he got out of them so easily, Peter had tried to teach himself that trick, but he was never able to manage it. Now he wished he had been more diligent. Neal walked around behind him and ran his hands down his arms and whispered in his ear “If you keep struggling, Peter, you’ll hurt yourself... ”

El stood in front of him, completed the line, “And you know, that’s _our privilege._

Peter tried to scowl, but instead he moaned as Neal worked his hands across his chest, pulling and pinching his nipples through the soft fabric of his tee shirt. “How does it feel to be helpless, Agent Burke? Locked up, unable to stop me from touching you?” Neal pinched him hard and his hips lifted off the chair. He moaned again and closed his eyes when Neal whispered in his ear. “How do you like not being in control?”

The sensation of Neal’s mouth and tongue, his hands plucking at his nipples again, being bound and helpless was incredible.

It was a shock when all sensation stopped. Peter opened his eyes to see El again sitting on the edge of the table, this time completely naked. She was licking her thumb, biting it, and finally sucking it like it was a little dick. Her other hand was busy pulling and pinching her clit.

Neal, wicked, dirty Neal offered to help his wife. “Do you want me to shove something bigger in there, Elizabeth?”

Her answer could have been _yes_ , _hell yes_ , or just _hurry up and do it_ , but Peter couldn’t be sure.

“Move closer, I want to watch.” Peter commanded them.

El pulled her fingers out of her pussy and let her thumb slide out of her mouth with a pop. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make any demands, hon.” She looked at Neal. “What do you say we gag him?”

Peter began to seriously struggle. “You are not gagging me, Elizabeth Burke. You are NOT GAGGING ME.” To his fury, they paid no attention to him.

He watched as Neal reached into the bag he brought, and pulled out a ball gag, the one he bought and used on Neal just last weekend. “You are not using that on ME. Damn it, Caffrey.” He pulled at the handcuffs, and felt the skin at his wrists begin to scrape.

Neal held the gag up at Peter’s eye level. “We can do this the easy way, the hard way, or we can end this right now.” Neal looked at El, and that dirty smile appeared. “If you want to stop now, I’ll undo the cuffs, but my sister is going to be _very disappointed_ , aren’t you, Sis?”

Peter stopped struggling. His brain couldn’t believe his ears, but his dick certainly did. He hadn’t thought it was possible to get any harder.

El, the eager little bitch, played right along. “Baby brother, I think my husband’s getting the wrong idea about us.” She leaned in and kissed Neal, biting down on the delicious curve of his lower lip and pulling it out just to this right side of pain.

Peter watched as Neal started to run the gag down El’s breasts, teasing her nipples with the leather strap, digging the ball into her navel. “Spread your legs, sis.”

El opened her thighs and Neal rubbed the ball into her pussy, rolling it against her clit, pushing it deep into her vagina, working it until she came. He finally turned back to Peter, who seemed to forget how to breath. “Isn’t it delightful that my big sister is multi-orgasmic? We had sooo much fun as teenagers.”

Neal pulled the ball gag out from between El’s legs, and she gave a little squeak as the toy grazed her sensitized clit. Peter knew, he _knew_ what was going to happen next, and he wasn’t sure he was going to survive.

But Neal teased him a bit. “El, want a taste?” He held the gag out to her, it was coated with her moisture. She stuck her tongue out, flicking it against the leather covered rubber ball. “That’s it...need to save the rest for Peter.”

“Can I put the gag on him?”

Peter was dying, and Neal and El stood behind his chair. He made a token protest, and Neal lifted his chin, tilting his head back. It was a strange angle - the likeness was more pronounced, the smiles more wicked. Given that almost all of his blood seemed to be pooled in his cock, looking at them like that made him dizzy.

“Peter, if you don’t want this, say ‘skittles’.” He said nothing and after a few seconds, opened his mouth.

“Good boy, good boy.” El actually patted his head before shoving the El-flavored leather into his mouth. He felt two pair of hands working the straps around his chin and forehead, tightening everything until there was no chance for the gag to slip out.

Peter watched, forcibly silent, as Neal began to undress. He always loved watching him disrobe, and Neal knew it. Unless he had teased Neal to the point where he didn’t give a damn about his clothing, Neal always made a production out of getting naked. Once, Peter had joked about him giving lessons to strippers, and Neal casually replied that he had once worked in a club in St. Tropez, and learned from the best.

Every move Neal made was provocative, but strangely tasteful - given that he was playing the role of the incestuous baby brother. The dialogue the two of them had going was beyond outrageous.

“Do you remember the first time we did it?” El asked “her brother.”

“You walked in on me in the shower.”

“You were playing with yourself, and I was curious.”

“Curious my ass, you’d been looking at my dick since before I started shaving.”

“You’re so pretty, you can’t blame me.”

At that, both of them fell completely out of character and started to crack up. Peter snorted, and the entire fantasy fell apart as he nearly choked on the gag. But they didn’t unlock him.

Much to his dismay, Neal, naked and very aroused, completely ignored him. He reached instead for El, spun her around and pressed her face down on the table. “I think it’s time for you to get stuffed with something, too.”

El stretched out her arms across the table, scattering Peter’s files all over the floor. He couldn’t give a damn. Neal had retrieved something else from his bag of tricks. A bottle of lube and a butt plug he didn’t recognize. _Good boy, new toys for the lady._

El squealed when Neal squeezed some lube between her cheeks, and Peter can see her muscles rippling against the chilled sensation. Neal used both of his thumbs to work the lube into the tightness of her little asshole, loosening her up until she could easily take three of his long fingers.

Peter held his breath as Neal pushed the plug into his wife’s ass. He bit down on the ball in his mouth, tasting his wife as he listened to her rising cries of excitement. He watched as Neal worked the plug in and out, carefully but adamantly giving her no quarter. He knew that El couldn’t come just from having her ass filled - they’d play that game too many times. No matter how much of mastery Neal was demonstrating over her ass, El was still going to need her pussy filled or some pressure against her clit.

Peter could tell from her cries that she was getting desperate, and so was he. The precum leaking out of him was soaking his jeans from crotch to knee.

He watched as Neal entered her, slowing shoving his cock inside. “You’re tighter than usual, Elizabeth. Maybe it’s that baseball bat I’ve got shoved up your ass?” He could hear that Neal was beginning to lose control, his breath was beginning to shudder as he carefully stroked in and out. El was thrashing on the table, which rocked back and forth with their bodies.  Neal reached under her and pinched her clit and El came, screaming incoherently.

Neal pulled out of El’s body and turned to face Peter. He was sucking as much air as he could through his nose, and he was certain that he was drooling around the gag. As the first splashes of Neal’s cum hit his face and chest, Peter exploded in his pants, the scalding hot semen rising through the denim like beach foam after high tide.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: This is the filthiest thing I’ve ever written, and it was written for a prompt that [info]gyzym tossed me. Unbeta'd, but it was thoroughly cheerled by [info]gyzym. Mistakes are, naturally mine and mine alone.
> 
> 1 - In case you’re wondering, handcuffs have universal keys, and there is nothing illegal about owning them. The trick is to make sure that they are accessible when you’re locked in the restraints.
> 
> 2 - I have been reminded about Neal’s Houdini-like talents that were displayed during “Vital Signs”. I don’t want to hear anything more about it, okay? *facepalm*


End file.
